


Knuste (Shattering).

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Flashbacks, Human Names Used, M/M, Post-breakup, VIKING TIMES, Will get explicit, norway is a mage, will get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insipid. Emotionless. Frustrating.<br/>All Lukas wants is to escape his recent trauma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knuste (Shattering).

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! First Hetalia fic, with my absolute favourite children (Dumbfart and Boregay). Yeah, this chapter is probably not all that great, but in the future more will come. REMEMBER: I'm no writing wizz. More chapters may take some time. (Bear with my lazy, teenage mindset.)

Groans of aged, waned planks beneath light feet sounded so softly, but still were too loud to please the only ears who listened to them. Too loud for their owner of whom's hopes of silent escape had diminished. Time, not secrecy, was of importance now, though the former would have been much appreciated. The first rays of dawns were pushing on the horizon, striking panic in the young man now hauling in an anchor. Softly, the wooden boat at his delicate feet was rocking his nerves, pushing them farther and father past the line of comfort he'd never breached before. But the man's soft, pale face did not change or alter, even in despite of his nerves; insipid looks were commonplace on his features. He had seen twenty winters by now, none knew much of him. His blank, almost irritated face had remained in it's way for majority of his time in the village from which he was now departing. 

He would be glad to see it gone. The overwhelming bleakness of the place had always matched its residents - aside from one - and it had never interested the man in his time growing up. Although, frankly he had not spent all too much time wandering the dusty paths and colourless patches of weeds and grass. Not that he minded this, on the contrary his detainment in a small hut with the village elder had been rather enjoying (and useful). At a young age he had shown great skill in magical arts, something rare in an age of warriors and brute force. A delicate yet deadly adolescent, he had been tasked throughout his childhood with training almost endlessly to heighten his unearthly talents. This had in consequence burdened him with being the only one able to protect the village in which he lived, thus meaning that even now at but twenty summers of age, he had caused more bloodshed than many in the great hall above.

More light felt its way over the hairs on the back of the man's neck, and he snapped back to the task at hand. The anchor dropped onto deck, and with some concentration and a push from the young wizard's mind, the boat heaved off the rough shore and into the territory of the great ocean god, Ægir. The winds that had once ravaged the thatched roof over your head now caught in the sails of your prized boat (named formally as 'Kraft av Vannet', 'Force of the Water'). 

* * *

Lukas.

The name floated and bobbed in the mind of the man as did the boat in which he rested. But a day had past and already the settlement in which he had grown up in was a distant memory, but one measly inhabitant still played on his mind. The way his sharp tongue called out the name like a serpent spitting it's venom.

Lukas.

Not many new his name, but the man who diseased his thoughts had. His name was something of a curse on Lukas' ears, cutting them each time the moniker fell on them. Too painful to think of right now. But his actions, on the other hand, toyed with Lukas' mind, not allowing the man to focus. So instead of bothering with maps and supplies and all of the important stuff, he had slipped silently down to his chambers, where he lay on his bed. The calming waves that carried his vessel also carried his mind into deep thought and he began to explore what it was that plagued his mind so. The memories trickled in at first, dripping into the brain of the little lost soul. Lukas would not allow himself to think about any more than the first few drops of the reservoir of recollections that pooled in his mind; so much that caused him pain and so little he could care to think about. The emotionless walls he had built upon himself would not be penetrated, that was decided long ago. Although, they were showing chips and tiny holes.. but alone on this boat, there was no-one to see them. 

The first thing he remembered was the happy times. Delicate young feet pit-pattering up the knoll near to Lukas' home, two pairs in fact. Two feet who tread precisely where their owner intended for them to, they were controlled and almost polite. Covered delicately in a pair of sandals, they had belonged to Lukas. The other pair of feet did not walk up the mountain, but rather explored it. They were donned in thick leather boots meant for protection but used, it seemed, for hiking. They crawled up the weedy hillside, jumping on every rock and stamping on every nettle. Brash and a little stubborn, they matched their master quite well. He owned them. The one who's name struck Lukas hard. Those were his feet, or at least had been. Both pairs were considerably smaller than those currently at the base of the men. It occurred to the Norwegian that this memory was around the time of his twelfth winter, the other's thirteenth. The two children had climbed the hill on that mild day early in the dry season. He was dressed in leather armour (he had received it but a few weeks ago and was so prided in it that he wore it to even the simplest of walks, much like the one you were attending in this memory) and had even brought with him his trusted axe. Lukas was weary of the sharpened metal but was not so defenseless himself; a powerful wand hung with rope from his belt, pale hands ghosting over it occasionally. When the two boys reached the top of the hill, they sat down. Or rather, the forever-calm wizard-in-training had sat down, and patiently waited as the other flung himself on the ground beside him. Blissfully the boys had sat there, talking in peaceful tones garnished with the odd crack in a voice. Their friendship had begun but a moon or so before that day, and from there it had grown. Grown and grown and enveloped Lukas' free time. The bond between the quiet, emotionless boy and the loud, obnoxious blonde whippersnapper had been startling. But the memory was rose-tinted.

The memory faded and the worn-out and meaningless feeling of happiness followed suit. Lukas lay there unchanged, face as blank as he desired his mind to be. He lay for a few minutes longer, not thinking, just resting, before returning to whatever he had been doing before. Actually, he couldn't remember what that was meant to be, but he pretended to with style.

* * *

Icy. The darkness was icy. It crept through the slits in the woodwork, crawled onto the deck, whispered into all the nooks and crannies of the vessel - and engulfed it. The only light that still remained was one that cast black shadows to dance vividly on the walls. Lukas was near that light, in fact he was making that light. From his old, worn wand he had illuminated the small space below deck. He was just finishing up his daily magical exercises, and needed light to navigate through the ubiquitous murk. Holding the wand in his mouth, Lukas picked up the faded scrolls he had been reading to keep runes fresh in his mind and carried them precariously to his room. Once inside the chilled, stale room he set down his precious belongings and, returning his enchanted instrument to his pale hand, walked to his small wood basin. The water trapped inside was purified and clean. The diaphanous quality was gained through cleansing rituals performed on seawater. A very basic skill. Lukas leaned over into the basin, his crystalline reflection mirroring him. And then it stopped. He was staring into the water, almost unable to look away. His reflection, his own reflection. He'd not seen his own face since he's set off. No, wait, he'd not seen it since.. that day. Or rather, that evening. He glared down. What peered back was a ghost, dead and trite. Although, as he looked, he noted that his eyes remained alive. They were sapphires. Precious, that's what had been said. Those azure flames burned brightly still, ghosting over the reflected image. Pale, dusty skin was adorned with small bites and bruises. It was so strange, his husk was always so flawless. Though greasy and unclean, his hair was still precisely formed. Pale blonde layers falling down softly, with a swept fringe pinned with a cross. The cross. Small, carved, silver. Cold and sentimental. Or, as he had called it: "beautiful". Or "gorgeous". Or "enchanting".All those words. Over and over again, they circled the mind of the young Norwegian. That voice. Those words. All those times he's claimed to love Lukas. All those times he treated him like a prince. Sweet words that claimed undying love, now sour. Growing up together, his loud voice was always there on those days Lukas was allowed free time. That mouth, spewing it's declarations of love, calling for him. Kissing him. Soft exchanges falling on cold lips, oh how he'd kissed you so often. Lukas couldn't get rid of it, it just wouldn't go away. And thus Lukas was stuck hearing those words louder and louder, feeling those lips more and more, drilling at his emotional dam until --

\-- Drip. Just one drip. Piercing the calm water, rippling it. All thoughts stopped as the reflection that enthralled him faltered. Lukas stared, confused. Where could the drip have come from? Surely not the ceiling... Lukas pondered if it had anything to do with the damp stinging in his eyes. The usually monotone features were now drawn into a facial expression he didn't quite recognise. From his observations, his eyes were almost shiner,wetter. They were squinting and looked.. angry. Or sad. Lukas' lips were parted into a lengthy wince. He'd never seen such strong emotion on them. Relaxing his expression back to it's original bland look, Lukas calmed down slowly and flicked out the light of his wand. The ice-cold blackness consumed the last of the ship, and the young wizard slunk to his worn, battered bed. Though it wasn't comfortable at all, a feeling of calm washed over him and as he slept that night, 'Kraft av Vannet' rested too.

* * *

Rocking. It was the sickening rocking that distracted the captain from his ship. The boat danced it's way through a fight to keep upright; she was a light boat and the choppy waves were testing her. The pilot recognised this ocean behaviour as a warning that soon enough, a storm would be upon them. Lukas sighed deeply, in fact really he had recently been sighing so much he seemed as though he would soon start running out of air and deflate. But it wasn't happening. He was much too tired now to try and steer the ship away, and he wouldn't be so stupid to walk on deck (to fire a distress signal with his wand) in this situation. He's be thrown off and into the realm of Ægir, and he'd rather brace a typhoon than that. So instead of reacting with panic and fear, he kept what cracked remains of his calm, emotionless shell there was and decided to re-read the diary entry he had just written. A fluent writer, much more well-worded than the brutes from home, the Norwegian had always embraced the literary arts with silent passion. His latest diary entry read:

"It's all so strange. I find myself becoming more unstable each day. Twenty long seasonal cycles I have managed to keep myself strong. Plain. Insipid, like it's meant to be. I hardly batted an eyelid when I slaughtered those who plundered our village. I did not smile when I cam of age and was gifted with this fine boat. But it's all gone now. I caught myself frowning thrice today. Twas not of my intention, but it happened. and I am ashamed. But it's humorous really, that I should become what he wanted. For that's what he said, was it not, on that treacherous evening. That I was too emotionless, too plain, I never told him how much I loved him. But oh did I adore him, he was my world. My everything. The thing that kept me sane from daily bloodshed and training resting on my shoulders, the one that grounded my when I allowed duty to rule my being as a constant. But no. How could he continue to love me? A "heartless insipid spirit". Yet even now, though I am so obviously monotone and bland, his words still tear at me like daggers in the night. How could he abandon me.. He promised he would never. And yet he deceived me. Cursed be him. Matthias. Matthias, the one who once loved me. His name, it slices at me like..."

From there, the words stop. For Lukas could not continue writing. There was another drip. And another. And soon a steady drip, drip, drip, that Lukas could not stop. He was sure now, it had to be related to the stinging in his eyes. A few of the drips were rolling down his cheeks in an unstoppable steady stream, much like how his emotions just kept spilling out of him. It was painful, overwhelming, all of this emotion pooling out of him like an erupting volcanoes from the tales he had been told as a child. It was so hard to keep it together, it was all so much. Memories faded in and out of his mind, memories of him, Matthias, of their surreptitious relationship. Of the moonlit kisses and the secret hand-holding. Of late-night cuddles and affectionate embraces. He was finally facing how much he missed it all; how much he needed it back. It all came crashing down so painfully. Soaked pages flapped and chairs fell about as Lukas' pinpoint control over magical energy shattered. Everything was flying around, overhwelming the wizard. He couldn't do it. It was too much for his broken being to handle. And so, though it was about midday, icy darkness consumed him once more.

* * *

Noise. Loud noise. Fully surrounding noise. Constant heavy drumming of Thor's tears plummeting onto the deck. The storm was upon Force of the Water and it was rocking her unsteadily. But the monsoon was not the only sound. Something else, like a pushing break in the water. A wooden monster parting the waves. That was what woke Lukas up. His senses reeled in quickly as panic grew in him. His room was a wreck, and he was laid on the floor of it, damp-faced. Dragging himself up onto his feet and out of his numbed state, he blundered towards deck. If that other sound was in fact a wooden dragon, a boat, then it could surely not be good. The pale Norwegian had most certainly not put up a flare for help with his magic, and there was of course no other option to call for help on a boat on one in the middle of the ocean. Soaked floors creaked beneath two sandals as Lukas tore through his vessel. He had to reach deck.

As the frozen winds finally pelted his face, Lukas stumbled onto to rocking surface. He was instantaneously drenched by the tiny wet knives that threw themselves against his clothes. Squinting his eyes, Lukas glared around for the cause of the other noise. He flinched as thunder commanded it's stormy fleet. But then he saw it. Sapphires landed their gaze on the scene in front of him. And Lukas, horror-struck, sank to his knees. Rain attacked his ship, winds froze his ears and face, waves soaked his deck, thunder filled his ears. But the weather's effect had nothing on that from what was unfolding before him. Another ship had snuck up on his. The source of the noise. It was a huge beast of a thing, more of a great wooden ark than a simple boat. It had cast anchor it seemed, and a rope bridge was now fixed precariously to Lukas' ship. He could do nothing but watch and wait. Fear and rain tasted bitter in his mouth. The cold sting of the storm had numbed his wet skin. Everything was crashing down. Everything was so horrible, so engulfing, so maddening. The torn-apart young man could not tell if he was screaming or not over the roar of all that was happening. But then, suddenly, a glimpse, a fleeting glance. Lukas' breathing. The storm seemed to subside momentarily. Lukas' heart shattered in that one moment he saw what was there.

And then Matthias stepped on board.

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyyy well, hope you enjoyed it. This is actually the "SHORT STORY" I wrote for my English assessment lmao. Two birds one stone.


End file.
